Welcoming 2026

I'm celebrating the arrival of 2026 in the peaceful quiet space of Manong's bedroom—now my second bedroom and study—where I write this. The fireworks don't explode as loudly as they used to in my childhood, but our aspin Paul, whose ears are four times more sensitive than a human's, shivers in panic, hiding underneath my late father's rattan reclining chair, refusing to eat anything. 

The massive disinterest in fireworks is a good thing overall because that means more fingers will be spared from amputation. People resort to clanging their palanggana and timba, an inferior way of making sound, but much, much safer. My neighbors play OPMs for the entire street to hear. Minutes ago, I overheard, "Nandito ako, umiibig sa iyo ..." Not the best music for New Year's Eve, but if that song makes the listeners happy, I'm up for it either. 

My brothers Ralph and Sean joined me in a video call early this afternoon. We live in different timezones. Afternoons are the best time to call. Sean and wife Hannah had just returned from a tour of the Great Barrier Reef. Sean told me some scenes in the Pirates of the Caribbean were shot in the white beaches of that part of Australia. They boarded a small plane. Ten minutes into the descent, Hannah vomited due to biyahilo, a fact explained by the turbulence largely caused by the terrain on the ground. Soon Manong will join our newfound aunties and uncles—distant relatives from the Catedral side, but relatives nonetheless—for New Year's Eve. I left Manong behind in Sweden and told him, after two weeks of a relaxing but eventful trip around Europe, that I'd squeeze our mother for him. I'm back in Philippine shores, with its warmth, noise, and celebrations—things I intended to leave behind, if only for a few days. 

When I drove Auntie Nene Jasmin home to Banga (she was my mother's companion during the long break, while I was away), there was a fresh excitement all over town. I saw boys laughing and walking by the street, children running around.  Childhood should involve spontaneous games in the tangible outdoors, away from the smartphones that are the main reasons why many of their generation act like zombies. Cars lined the highway. The adults were buying round fruits—oranges, kiat-kiat, grapes—and fireworks.

A rainbow greeted me as I drove home: a steady reminder of the beauty of life and the possibilities of the year ahead.